


orange

by nonopiimagines



Series: Requests [1]
Category: Tekken
Genre: F/M, Fighting, Kissing, M/M, Reader-Insert, gender neutral reader, reader is baek doo san's kid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 19:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19324183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonopiimagines/pseuds/nonopiimagines
Summary: reader x hwoarangReader fights for their father's honor and falls in love along the way.





	orange

You had seen him at your father’s dojang a few times. Hwoarang. It was hard to forget the ferocity of his hair and the cocky grin on his face. But you never stayed long, you had been through this before: hot guy trains at your dad’s dojang, your dad says “please don’t”, you see the boy anyway, and he turns out to be a total jerk. You had learned your lesson. Even if this one always tries to catch your eye and succeeds. Even if this one always spares a second to smirk at you while he’s in the middle of sparring without missing a beat. Even if he rides an extremely cool motorcycle.

But today you weren’t at the dojang, you were in Seoul. You were hanging out with your friend Ha-rin and her boyfriend that you had just met today and immediately decided you didn’t like. You were about ready to leave the couple and head home, but you hesitated when he invited Ha-rin to watch him fight in an underground tournament. You adored Ha-rin because she always saw the best in people, even this sleazy misfit. You weren’t going to let this guy take her some place like that alone.

Which brings you to this moment when you were feeling two things: glee at watching Ha-rin’s boyfriend getting his ass kicked and giddiness at watching Hwoarang participate in an event your father would surely disapprove of.

It didn’t take long for Hwoarang to find you after the match was over. You didn’t purposefully make eye contact, but he no doubt saw you following Ha-rin who ran to her freshly beaten boyfriend as soon as she could. “I didn’t know this was your kind of place, Y/N,” he called as he approached. He clearly knew it wasn’t your kind of place, a coy smile playing on his face. You rolled your eyes.

“It’s not. I’m just chaperoning.” You looked over to where Ha-rin was a few feet away, cooing over her bruised boyfriend. He seemed happy with the attention, even though his ego had been trampled all over.

Hwoarang followed your gaze and gave an incredulous laugh. “Your friend has terrible taste.”

“Tell me about it.” You glanced back at him, not intending to stare into his eyes but falling into them anyway. “And so does my father, apparently.”

“Oof,” Hwoarang clapped a hand on your shoulder, leaning closer to you, never losing eye contact. You noticed how wild his hair at become after the fight, and the sheen of sweat on his arms and chest from exertion, heat still radiating off his body. “Sorry, Y/N, but he already knows. And yeah, he disapproves.”

The shit-eating grin on his face as he took away the steam from your discovery made your blood boil. “Then why keep doing it? He adores you.” Any playfulness that was there between you before had evaporated and Hwoarang faltered. “He adores you and you trash his name, his dojang. He gives you so much and you still only think of yourself.”

He stared at you for a moment, then his hand fell away from your arm and he briskly walked away, heading outside into the warm summer air.

—

You were ready when he arrived at the dojang the next day. You didn’t speak to your father about that night or what you had seen, but you were ready to protect him from Hwoarang and his disrespectful actions.

You watched him get off his bike, still in his jeans and tank top. He kept his eyes toward the ground and tried to push passed you, but you pushed him back.

“You don’t get to come here anymore, not until you stop what you’re doing.” You had your arms folded across your chest, your stance wide, trying to act as a wall even though you were shorter than him.

When he finally looked at you, he didn’t seem as haunted as he did when he left you last time. Even a small smile appeared on his lips. “Y/N.”

“What?”

“Fight me.”

“What!?” You said it louder this time, red dusting your cheeks. You looked behind your to see if anyone was around to hear, but it was too early for other people to arrive. Even your father was back at your house, finishing his breakfast.

“I mean it. Fight me.” He got closer to you again, as he had last night. You didn’t know what to think or do about it, so you just kept your face straight and didn’t move. “If you win, I’ll stop doing the underground fights. If I win, I’ll keep doing what I’m doing, including training under your father.”

You hesitated. Of course you knew how to fight, learning taekwondo from your dad when you were younger, then expressing to him that you wanted to learn Wing Chun when you were a bit older. You could tell it broke his heart, but in some way you needed to be different from him, you couldn’t bear the weight of his name as well as his practice.

But it would be an uphill battle. The variables were not in your favor: you’ve rarely sparred or fought with anyone of a different practice, Hwoarang was bigger than you, and the wide and roomy floor of the dojang meant the fight wasn’t necessarily close quarters. Plus, Hwoarang did this for fun and money and he did it often.

But your father meant so much to you. You would protect him at any cost.

“Okay. Fine.” You relented, collapsing your body so you were only taking up part of the doorway. He walked passed you and you couldn’t help but to look over your shoulder and watch him head into the backroom. You felt like you were making a mistake.

—

You had changed and warmed up before Hwoarang emerged from the backroom, wearing a dobok your father had given him with the dojang’s logo on his chest. You felt conflicted, knowing he was wearing it on purpose to rile you up, make you angry before the fight. He didn’t deserve to wear it, but it couldn’t matter right now.

You breathed out your mouth and moved to the center of the floor. He met you there, heat already emanating off of him, like he had already run ten miles in the backroom while you were methodically stretching. He looked like he wanted to say something, but held back. Another distraction you needed to shrug off.

Like in Hwoarang’s street fights, you would not bow to your opponent. So you began. You tried to keep close and remain on the defensive so you could observe your opponent’s reactions. A calm had overcome you but a thought still nipped at the edge of your mind: is he going easy on you?

As the fight continued, you got some hits in, but that notion continued to fester. By all means, this fight should not be yours. Were you sinking to his level by agreeing to a fight like this? A gamble to get what you wanted?

He had grappled you to the floor, but you were able to flip out of his grasp and gain the upperhand. What was winning in this fight? Was it the twinkle in his brown eyes as the fight slowly dripped out of him, and he let you pin him down? Was it how close your faces were as you held his wrists to the mat? He could get up, break out if he wanted, you knew. And it looked like he was going to, but instead he was pushing his torso up and angling his head to connect your lips together. It was simple, it was sweet. Too sweet for someone like him.

“Y/N! Hwoarang! What is going on here?”

—

You exit couldn’t have been fast enough. Your father never said anything about this kiss, you weren’t sure if he saw, but it didn’t matter. You hadn’t gone anywhere near the dojang since that morning. Nothing that had happened made sense to you and every time you tried to recall bits and pieces, you felt your insides twist and butterflies erupt into your throat. You didn’t know whether to feel angry or excited. Did Hwoarang use the fight as an excuse to get close to you or because he genuinely wanted to change?

“Y/N, will you be able to close to dojang tonight?” your father asked over your shared lunch, trying to seem as normal as possible. “I have an appointment.”

You chuckled, shaking your head at his attempt to hide his schedule from you. “You’re going to meet that nice lady from the corner shop. I know, you can’t fool me.”

“Nothing gets by you, does it?”

You made a noise in agreement, getting up to clear the table off and put the dishes in the sink. As happy as you were for your father, you weren’t sure if you were ready to go back to the dojang. You knew Hwoarang was there for a large portion of his day, but it was usually it was in the morning. Perhaps you had nothing to fear.

—

The sun was setting as you finished up the last of the closing duties in the dojang. You only saw some younger students stay behind from an earlier class, but they left quickly after you started wiping down floors. It was peaceful and quiet and it felt like the beginning of a perfect summer evening with everything turning an orange hue.

You locked the front door from the inside and gathered your things before leaving out the backdoor, locking it behind you. You walked around the small building, excited to be done and pick up some dinner on your way home.

But, of course, it couldn’t be that easy. You saw the familiar form of Hwoarang leaning against his bike, facing away from you. His hair looked even brighter in the dying rays of the sun, especially against his dark shirt.

You deliberately made your way to him, making sure he heard you approaching though he made no move of acknowledgement. Finally, you stood in front of him and looked at him and he looked at you and you didn’t know what to say.

So he said it instead: “What took you so long?”

You made a sound of annoyance only betrayed by the grin on your face and pushed his shoulder gently. “It’s not like you came in to help or anything, jerk.”

“Maybe that’s something I could start doing now that my evenings are free.” Hwoarang said it in a joking voice, but his face was serious as he looked at you. His lips were set firm and his eyes bore into yours as he awaited your response. It was almost too good to be true: the guy you had been thinking about the last few days did something that impressed you. Maybe the guys who trained at your father’s dojang weren’t that bad after all.

“Hmm, no more street fighting? No more underground tournaments?” You just wanted to be sure, though there was a soft smile on your face because you already knew the answer.

“No. Someone told me it would shame my dojang master,” he began, ushering you closer. You gave him a confused look before giving in, letting him pull you to him, resting his hands on your hips as he looked up at you. “It disappointed his kid too. And I heard they're hot.”

You rolled your eyes as you put your arms around his neck, looking at him as closely as you did that morning when you ceased fighting. “Shut up, Hwoarang.” You meant it and you didn’t, but instead of letting him say anything else you put your lips on his to drive the point home.

He immediately used it as an excuse to pull you closer to him, standing in between his legs, almost leaning up against him. You could feel how thin his shirt was, not masking any of the muscle beneath. He moved his hands up and down your waist, revealing a bit of skin beneath your shirt and shorts. You kissed him harder, moving your mouth against his at a slow and deliberate pace. It was only when you threaded your fingers through the hairs at the nape of his neck did he pull away.

“I have to take you to dinner.” There was still only inches between your faces, between your lips, your hand still in his hair, your hips still pressed to his to body. His eyes kept darting between your mouth and your eyes, unsure if he wanted to continue or not.

“What?” You were beginning to feel like that was going to be a common conversation piece for you.

He pushed you away a little bit more so he could reach behind him, grab the helmet hanging off his handlebar, and carefully push it onto your head. “I promised your dad I would.”

Your heart stopped for a moment. Did that mean your father saw the kiss after all? Did he see the whole fight? Or did Hwoarang just tell him everything? Did all of it mean that he approved of this relationship? You weren’t sure and you expected to have an awkward conversation with him later about it. But you guessed it was fair if you could ask him about his date.

“Okay, take me to dinner.”

Hwoarang nodded, swinging his leg over the bike and patting the seat behind him. You laughed and did as you were told, buckling your helmet before wrapping your arms around his wide torso. Again you noticed how tight his t-shirt was, feeling the movement of muscles beneath your hands.

**Author's Note:**

> requests are always open, find me on the tumblr @nonopiimagines


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